Whistle-Binkie
Miller, William
Published 1842
Wee Willie Winkie Wee
Willie Winkie rins through the toon,
Up stairs an’ doon stairs in his nicht-goun,
Tirlin’ at the window, crying at the lock,
"Are the weans in their bed, for it’s now ten o’clock ?’
‘Hey Willie Winkie, are ye comin’ ben ?
The cat’s singin’ grey thrums to the sleepin’ hen,
The dog’s speldert on the floor and disna gie a cheep,
But here’s a waukrife laddie, that wunna fa’ asleep.’
Onything but sleep, you rogue, glow’rin’ like the moon,
Rattlin’ in an airn jug wi’ an airn spoon,
Rumblin’, tumblin’ roon about, crawin’ like a cock,
Skirlin like a kenna-what, waukenin’ sleepin’ fock.
“Hey Willie Winkie, the wean’s in a creel,
Wamblin’ aff a bodie’s knee like a verra eel,
Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug and ravelin’ a’ her thrums
Hey Willie Winkie — see there he comes.’
Wearit is the mither that has a stoorie wean,
A wee, stumpie stousie, that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi’ sleep afore he’ll close an e’e
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.
Lines to Victor Hugo
(On reading of his great grief for the death of his grandson, Victor Hugo, aged one year)
I ken the ploys that ye had planned,
The summer days’ sweet lingering journeys,
To pu’ the gowans, or to sit
By thymey brim o muirland burnies ;
Or sing him sangs that he wad ken
The meanin o when he grew aulder ;
And as thy voice rose wi the strain
Note that his braid brent brou luiked baulder.
I hae an oe, a lassie wean,-
A wee ma’msel, as ye wad ca’ her ;
I luik at her, then think o thee.
What wad I dae did aught befa’ her ?
Your grief has grieved me, and I feel
Man’s closely linked wi ane anither ;
Thy darlin grandchild’s made me know
My grandpa’s but my bigger brither !
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